


Matelotage

by Strange_Soulmates



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age of Sail, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Crew as Family, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pirates, Severitus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:42:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9841115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_Soulmates/pseuds/Strange_Soulmates
Summary: In the aftermath of his ship's capture by the pirate crew of theVoldemort, Second Lieutenant Potter of the Royal Navy is taken hostage, held ransom for his uncle's fortune.  However, the longer he stays aboard theVoldemort, the more confused Harry becomes about where his duty truly lies.  Matters are not helped by the charismatic Captain Riddle, the man responsible for the death of Harry's parents, a man determined to pry all of Harry's secrets from him by whatever means necessary.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leontina (Leontina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leontina/gifts).



> A much belated gift for my tomarrytine, asexualsiriusblack, who has been so patient and understand about my circumstances. She asked for a pirate AU, and I did my best to oblige, though it has quickly spun out of control. Still, I hope this first chapter and all the rest to come hit the spot.
> 
> I know nothing about the age of sail save what I read in the last three days, but I hope you can all suspend your disbelief long enough to enjoy the story. Unbeta'd, so please forgive any errors.

Second Lieutenant Harry Potter stood on the rigging on the the foremast of the _HMS Griffin,_ eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of sails.  Harry often served lookout duty, something he thoroughly enjoyed, unlike his crewmates.  At the top of the mast, even the smallest motion of the boat below was amplified.  Harry had seen even the most experienced of sailors become violently seasick after serving a watch as lookout.

Not Harry.  He loved the feeling of the wind in his hair, the boat rocking beneath him, the smell of salt in the air, the horizon stretched out before him.  Harry loved sailing.  He had been born to it.

"You'll be the finest sailor the seven seas have ever seen," his mother had told him when he was young, a smile full of pride on her face. "It's in your blood."

Harry had taken those words to heart.  He did everything he could to ensure that his parents would be proud of him.  They were with him always, but they weighed heavily on his mind today.  Five years ago today, he had lost them both.

Today, the wound felt fresh, as if he was losing them all over again.

Harry had been serving as Master's Mate on the _HMS Griffin,_ the ship commanded by Admiral Dumbledore, a close friend of the family who had taken Harry on at his father's request at eleven, when he had finally convinced his parents to let him go to sea after years of begging.  Six years later, the _Phoenix_  had become just as much home as his family's large, well appointed house on the island of Godric ever had been.  Harry had been working with the Ship's Mate, the stern Mathias McGonagall, to plot their course once they left port.

Their complex calculations were interrupted by a knock on the door, and McGonagall had shouted a rough "Come!"

The cabin boy, Colin Creevey, entered, but before he had the chance to speak, McGonagall ordered him to stand there and be quiet.  Only when he and Harry had finished the computation did the man put down his compass and straighten.

"What did you want, Creevey?"

"It's the Admiral, sir," Creevey said.  "He wants to see Potter."

"Off you go Potter," McGonagall said.  "The sooner you go, the sooner you can get back."

"Yes sir," Harry had said before making his way out of the room, Creevey hot on his heels.

"Do you know what this is about?" Harry asked Creevey.

"Not a clue," Creevey said.  "I was hoping you would tell me."

Harry reached out and ruffled Colin's hair.

"Go practice your maths if you have nothing better to do. I'll be checking it tonight."

As the Mater's Mate with the most seniority, Harry was the head of the midshipmen's berth.  As such, he was responsible for their instruction in mathematics, navigation, and the lore of the sea.  It was a responsibility Harry took seriously, and one he had discovered he was skilled at.  While not yet old enough to be a midshipman, Harry had opted to include Colin.  Might as well give the boy something to do other than fetch and carry all day.

Creevey winced hard enough that Harry knew he hadn't so much as glanced at the assignment Harry had given him several days before.  The boy skittered off in the direction of the midshipmen's berth when they were below, and Harry shook his head, smiling in amusement.  Harry stopped before the Admiral's cabin, taking a moment to straighten his uniform and doing his best to tame his hair, for all he knew it was a useless effort.  When he thought he was more or less presentable, Harry knocked on the Admiral's door.

"Come in," the Admiral called.

Harry opened the door and stepped into the cabin.  The admiral sat behind his desk, his expression serious behind his neatly trimmed white beard, no sign of the usual twinkle in his blue eyes.  Harry found himself straightening, making sure his posture was perfect and he cast about for anything he might have done to cause the expression on the usually jovial Admiral's face.

"Midshipman Potter reporting as ordered, sir," Harry said.

"Sit down my boy," the Admiral said, gesturing to the desk across from him.

Harry did as ordered, his sense of apprehension only growing.  Not a reprimand, then.  The expression on the Admiral's face had him truly concerned.  As Harry situated himself, the Admiral pulled a bottle out from the depths of his drawer, pouring two generous glasses.

"Harry," the man said, and Harry felt ice flow through his veins.  While it was true the Admiral was not much for propriety in his own cabin, he never addressed Harry by his first name unless they were meeting socially at the home of Harry's parents.  For him to be addressing him so familiarly now could mean nothing good. "The post boat moored half an hour ago."

His parents. It could be about nothing else.

Commodore Potter was stationed in the Caribbean, ranking officer of the Isle of Godric.  His father knew the waters better than any man in the Royal Navy.  His mother, who knew the waters better than any person alive, had always joined his father aboard his ships, giving any man who objected a warm smile before verbally tearing them to shreds.  After the first few rounds, none dared comment on her presence aboard, superstitions be damned.

She'd stayed home with Harry until he was young enough to go to sea himself.  As soon as Harry was safely aboard the _Phoenix_  she had rejoined his father aboard his ship once again.

The _HMS Valiant_ was stationed in the Caribbean last he had heard.  Dealing with the pirate problem.

"The _HMS Valiant_ left port in pursuit of the pirate ship _Voldemort_ just over a month ago.  They were expected to dock three weeks ago."

Harry's hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly.

"Weather could have drive them off course," Harry said.  "Ships never keep schedule.  The sea is too unpredictable for that."

"Harry," Admiral Dumbledore said gently, "My boy....they found the wreckage."

Harry stared straight at the Admiral, unable to process his words.

"There is no question as to which ship it was," the Admiral said gently,  "Many of the debris were from the cargo, stamped with the _Valiant's_  name."

Harry wordlessly reached forward and took the glass from off the desk, draining it in one swallow, relishing the feeling of it burning down his throat.  It distracted from the burning of his eyes.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"The _Voldemort_ ," the Admiral answered, his expression somber.  "There was no weather in the area, and there was nothing they could have run aground on.  It wasn't the first time she's attacked a ship of the Royal Navy."

"Sloops," Harry answered, fists clenched.  "Frigates.  Not ships of the line.  Thirty guns, not seventy."

The Admiral poured him another drink, but Harry ignored it, trembling with rage.

"Pirates don't fight, not if they can help it.  They intimidate and use threat of violence to board without struggle.  Get in, get the loot, get out.  Burn what they can't take.  Run, not fight.  That's how they operate."

"The majority of them, yes," the Admiral said, his clam tone only serving to make Harry more angry.  "The _Voldemort_ is manned by a crew who seems to take particular delight in engaging with Royal Navy ships.  This is the first man of the line she's sunk, it's true.  But it is by no means the first navy ship she has destroyed."

Things had devolved from there, Harry wrecking the Admiral's office in anger as the man had watched on impassively.  He had even gone so far as to scream at his commanding officer when the man had tried to offer him what felt like empty platitudes.

Harry had been lucky the Admiral hadn't had him up on charges for his behavior that day.  Instead, Admiral Dumbledore had waved off Harry's apologies, telling him to think no further on the matter, and arranged for transport back to land so Harry could arrange for a ceremony and get his parent's affairs in order.

Captain Wood was an admirable man who Harry respected, but at heart, he was the Admiral's man.

Harry's rumination was interrupted by the sight of sails on the horizon.

"Ship ho!" Harry shouted, using years at sea to ensure his voice carried down to the deck.  Harry kept his eyes peeled, taking in details as the ship came closer and closer.

Three masts.  A merchant ship, if Harry had to guess.  As they closed, he recognized it as a Fluyt.  What caught his attention was the flag.  It was difficult to make out more than the color at this distance, but what wasn't difficult to make out was the knot tied into it.

Harry clambered down from his perch in the tops, dropping down onto the deck with ease.  The captain was shouting orders, and Harry watched the crew scurrying across the deck as he made his way to where the captain stood.

"Well, Mr. Potter?" Captain Wood asked.  "What are we dealing with?"

"A Fluyt sir.  One flying a wheft," Harry replied.  "There have been reports of pirates in the area, and there's no way she's armed for conflict."

"Minimal crew, maximal cargo," the Captain said, shaking his head.  "A perfect target for pirates."

"What colors was the ship flying?" the Captain asked.

"I couldn't tell at this distance, sir."

The man's brow furrowed, staring out over the sea.  At last, he turned and faced his crew once again.

"Mr. Potter, you will lead a boarding party over to the ship.  If she's one of ours, see what has transpired and what aid we may be able to offer them.  If she isn't, well," the Captain smiled.  "It seems we'll be taking a prize to port."

"Aye aye, sir," Harry responded, adrenaline coursing through him.

It was normally the First Lieutenant who lead all boarding parties.  While it was true that there was very little risk in this case, the fact that the Captain had decided to entrust Harry with the responsibility spoke to the Captain's confidence in him.

Harry had his boarding party organized by the time they drew abreast of the merchant ship.  The wheft was indeed the British flag, which was apparent now that they were closer.  It also explained why they'd used the wheft in the first place - it was nearly impossible to tell when the Union Jack was inverted.

There was a small group of sailors waiting on the other ship, only six men or so, and Harry found himself frowning.  Even for a ship as small as this, it was too small a crew.  Whatever it was that had robbed them of so many of their crew might certainly explain why they were in need of assistance now.

What that tragedy might have been was a separate issue entirely.  There was a large outcropping of rock on the horizon, but the only damage Harry could see along the side of the ship was clearly caused by cannon fire.

Pirates.  Pirates had damaged her, boarded her, and apparently killed most of her crew.  That was the only explanation.

For all that is was perfectly reasonable, Harry still found himself uneasy.  He checked his pistol once more and made certain his sword was at his hip.  A quick glance at the men of his boarding party revealed that most of them were at ease, though Harry was grateful to note they were well armed regardless.  The sea was rarely a friendly place by any stretch of the imagination.

First command jitters, judging by the attitude of his men.  That wouldn't keep Harry from being alert.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to shake his nerves before he gave the command.

"Boarders away!"

Harry waited for the ship to rise with the swell before he leapt the gap between the ships, landing on the slippery deck of the Fluyt with ease.  The sound of boots thudding on the deck around him let him know his party was with him, and Harry walked over to the small gathering of  men milling about on deck.

"Lieutenant Harry Potter of the _HMS Griffin,"_ Harry said.  "Here to render whatever assistance you may need.  Where is the Captain?"

"The Captain was killed," one of the men said, stepping forward.  "We were boarded by pirates, and the Captain refused to surrender.  They...they killed him for it."

Harry studied the men before him, eyes narrowed.  They were remarkably well dressed, for a crew that had just been raided by pirates.  Well fed, too, from the looks of things.  Pirates wouldn't have left them with many supplies.

"How long have you been stranded here?" Harry asked.

"Nearly three weeks now," the man replied, his face filled with gratitude.  "We lost our navigator during the raid, and were unable to find our way to shore without him.  Is there someone on your crew you could spare to help us find our way back to shore?"

Harry draws his sword and holds it to the man's throat at once.  A merchant ship would have more than one man aboard capable of reading charts and plotting a course.

There was only one group of people who were almost always short on navigators.

"Lieutenant?" A midshipman inquired nervously at his shoulder.

"Pirates," Harry answered, eyes narrowed.  "Pirates, looking to add to their crew by any means necessary."

Upon hearing his words, the rest of his crew drew blades as well, surrounding the small group of 

"Why the ruse?" Harry asked, staring at them in consternation.

Any officer aboard a Navy ship would have the skills they would require.  The _Griffin_  was only a fourth rate.  While she was more than a match for most sloops, a well-armed frigate would have put up enough of a fight to allow the pirates to board, giving them the opportunity to seize more than their fair share of crew members.

Why create a situation where six pirates could be captured, as well as what was clearly a pirate prize ship?  What did forcing them to send over a boarding party accomplish?

Harry's eyes widened, his head jerking back towards the outcropping of rocks.  Sure enough, there was a ship emerging from behind the rocks, coming towards them at an impressive clip.

A third rate, flying a very distinct flag.  A white skull on a black background, a green snake emerging from the skull's mouth.  Only one captain flew a jolly roger with that design.

Captain Riddle of the _Voldemort_.

Rage roared through Harry's veins, his pulse pounding in his ears. Today. Five years to the day, since he had received the news of his parents deaths. And before him was the ship responsible.

Then Harry realized the implications of the ship's appearance, and the rage was pushed to the background by the horror that washed through him at the realization.  The _Voldemort_ was a third rate, meaning she had at least twenty more guns than the _Griffin_ if she was minimally outfitted.  With pirates at the helm, it was more likely to be thirty, if not more.  Not to mention the ship was known for being alarmingly fast, despite it's size.

In a sea battle, unless luck and the wind were with her, the _Voldemort_ would sink the _Griffin_ easily.   Oh, there would be a few passes, certainly.  But the _Voldemort_  had the advantage, and there was no doubt she had the experience.  In the five years since the _Valiant_  had gone down, the Royal Navy had lost more than a dozen ships to Captain Riddle and his crew.

There would have been no reason to lure a boarding party onto the Fluyt if they simply planned to sink the ship.

By luring them aboard the Fluyt, they had ensured that the _Griffin_  would be undermanned.

They were planning to take the ship.

"Pirates Ahoy!" Harry shouted, praying that his voice would carry.  "Back to the ship!"

Before the boarding party had a chance to return and help defend the _Griffin,_ dozens of men burst from below decks, cutlasses raised, forcing the boarding party to engage.

Harry lost himself in the battle.  His world narrowed down to a series of sensation.  The clash of steel against steel, the cool spray of the sea, the warm, slippery blood that coated his blade and sprayed his face.  Pirate after pirate, cut down when he could not disarm them, working his way across the deck.

"Lieutenant!" an unfamiliar voice called out, the words somehow carrying across the sea and the space between them.

Harry, when he was certain it was safe to do so, spun around only to freeze at the sight before him.

A man stood aboard the _Griffin_ wearing a dark green coat with a lighter green sash tied around his waist.  His white shirt was spattered all over with blood, gaping at the throat, a golden necklace of some sort glinting in the sun.  A tricorne hat sat atop his head, a smirk upon his face.  He held a sword in his hand, and at the end of the sword stood Captain Wood, restrained by two other men who were unmistakably pirates.

"The battle is over, Lieutenant," the man called again.  "Lay down your arms."

Staring at the deck of the _Griffin_ , Harry was horrified to realize he was right.  The fighting had stopped completely. every man in uniform having laid down his sword and pistol.  Pirates had taken her.

The boarding party faired well.  Another quarter of an hour, and the Fluyt would be theres.  He was certain of that.  But she was badly damaged, and had no weapons.  Even if they did take her, using the Fluyt to retake the _Griffin_ would be near impossible.

Harry had faced worse odds before.  He would gladly face them again.  Still, it was not his decision to make.

"Captain?" Harry called, looking to Wood.  Whatever his orders were, Harry would follow them.

"Lay down arms, Mr. Potter," Captain Wood said, though Harry could tell it truly pained him to do it.  "There's no sense in the loss of more men."

Harry grit his teeth, but did as ordered, placing his weapons down on the deck.

"Potter?" the man in green said, tilting his head to one side.  "Mr. Crouch!" he called out again.

"Yes, sir?" the man Harry had been battling with said, stepping forward to the edge of the deck.

"Escort Lieutenant Potter aboard," the man ordered, sheathing his blade.  "Make certain he is secure."

"Aye, sir," Crouch said before turning to face Harry.  "Your hands, Potter."

Clenching his teeth, Harry held his hands before him.

Crouch laughed in his face.

"Behind you, Potter.  I'm not a simpleton."

Harry did as he was ordered, jaw clenched.  The odds of it working had been slim, but it had been worth the attempt.

"I must say," Crouch remarked as he wrapped a length of rope around Harry's wrist, "you're an incredible swordsman.  Only the Captain is better."

"You seemed to be managing well enough," Harry said, tugging at his now bound wrist.

It seemed Mr. Crouch knew what he was about.  The man in question put a hand on Harry's shoulder and pushed him forward.  Harry had no choice but to comply.  As friendly as the man's tone was, Harry knew that one wrong move would have a sword lodged in his back or a musket ball in his brain.

"We both know that if you weren't so damned determined to disarm, I would have been dead three times over in the last quarter of an hour."

It was a mercy Harry was already regretting.  He should have just killed the man and been done with it.

They crossed back to the _Griffin_ using a plank that had been put up between the two ships, which Harry found insulting.  He knew it was to prevent him from getting into mischief while making the crossing, but still.  He was a Navy man.  Crouch was right behind him every step of the way.

Before he knew it, Harry was standing before the man who could only be Captain Riddle.

For all he was a scoundrel and a rake, the man was undeniably handsome.  His eyes were dark, his skin tanned from endless hours out on deck.  His cheekbones were as sharp as his grin as studied Harry intently.

What surprised Harry most, however, was how _young_  he was.  Perhaps five years Harry's senior at most.  Which meant he would have been all of twenty-two, if not younger, when the _Voldemort_ sent his parents to Davy Jones. 

The anger that rose in Harry's chest felt like a living thing.  For all that Harry wanted nothing more than to leap at the man and inflict whatever damage he could, even with his hands bound, there was the crew to think of.  Harry wouldn't be able to do any real damage to the man before he was stopped.  Riddle was vindictive, according to the rumors.  It wouldn't surprise Harry if punished the crew for Harry's transgressions.

He channeled his anger into working to slip free from the bonds around his wrists.  It would be unpleasant and painful, seeing as Crouch had done his job well, but Harry was confident in his ability to work free.  The lessons of all the various Uncles who had been in and out of his house had seen to that.

"Lieutenant Potter," Captain Riddle said, staring down at him.  "So you're the man who nearly ruined everything.  Clever of you, to have figured out what we had planned."

"I only wish I'd done it sooner," Harry replied with as much cheek as he could muster.

Riddle's mouth twisted into a quick smirk.

"Potter," he said, studying him intently.  "Any relation to Lord Charles Potter?"

Harry let out a huff of breath.  So that was what Captain Riddle was after.

Lord Charles Potter was his uncle, his father's older brother.  The man was nearing fifty, and despite their best efforts he and his young wife Dorea had been unable to have any children.  Leaving Harry as heir to the Potter estate, something he had no interest in being.  All Harry wanted was to spend his life at sea.

Ransom.  Riddle was planning to ransom him.

Harry was tempted to lie, but he knew Riddle's reputation.  The man was cutthroat and ruthless and would no doubt do away with the entire crew of the _Griffin_ as soon as he was finished gathering what information they had to offer.  Riddle didn't take prisoners, save when they were useful to him.

But he needed Harry alive to collect the ransom.  Harry could leverage that.

"My uncle," Harry said simply.

"Making you heir to the Potter fortune," Riddle said with an unkind smile.  "I'm certain he would pay a great deal to have you safely returned."

That was undoubtedly true, as much as it galled Harry.  Still, it was an advantage in this situation.

"You're an officer, too.  I trust you have experience in navigation?"

"I spent two years serving as Master's Mate while waiting for my promotion from Midshipman to Lieutenant," Harry said.

"Excellent," Riddle said.  "It seems you are to be our guest, Mr. Potter."

"What is to be done with the crew?" Harry asked.

Riddle gave him a look, brow arched, but he answered.

"The will be give an opportunity to sign the articles and join the crew," Riddle replied.

"And those who refuse?" Harry asked.

"Davy Jones is waiting for them," Riddle said with a cruel smile.

Harry took a deep breath.

"If you leave those who refuse to sign the articles on the Fluyt with a weeks worth of supplies, I will give you my parole," Harry said simply.

"You are my prisoner, Mr. Potter," Riddle said with a raised brow.  "Why on earth should I require your parole?"

Harry brought his freed hands forward, letting the bloodied rope fall to the deck as he pressed the knife he kept hidden in his coat against Riddle's throat.  

"I'm somewhat unpredictable when bound by rope rather than my word," Harry said simply.

Riddle stared at him for a long moment before he threw back his head and laughed.

"You will certainly be an interesting addition to the _Voldemort_ , Mr. Potter," he said, eyes sparkling with delight.  "Have you any other demands?"

Harry was sorely tempted to press his knife just a _hair_  harder.  That was all it would take to slit the bastard's throat and avenge his parents.  That was all it would take to forfeit his own life, as well, as the lives of all his crewmates.

"A vote on the council," Harry said simply.  "If I am to be ship's master, than I want the rewards as well as the responsibilities."

Harry watched with no small amount of satisfaction as Riddle gave him a look of genuine surprise.

"You are remarkably knowledgeable about our ways for a Navy man, Mr. Potter," Riddle said, eyes narrowed.

"And you're very inquisitive for a man with a knife at his throat," Harry returned with an unkind smile.

"If you sign the articles, you will have your vote," Riddle said, studying Harry intently.  "And those of your crew who do not sign will be left aboard the Fluyt with provisions enough to allow them to survive.  You have my word as Captain."

The words, witnessed as they were by the man's crew, were enough.  If he broke his promise, there would be mutiny.  A Captain was only as good as his word.

Harry removed his knife from the man's throat and offered it to him, handle first.  Riddle took it, before passing it off to one of his crew, who had gathered close the moment Harry had held their captain at knife point.

Riddle's hand snaked out faster than Harry's eyes could follow, fisting Harry's hair and tugging his head back painfully as the man took another step closer, closing the space between them.

"You're a puzzle, Mr. Potter," Riddle said, his breath ghosting across Harry's face.  "A pretty puzzle indeed.  One I will relish solving."

The  man held his gaze for a long moment before releasing him and taking a step back.

"Crouch," he ordered, "take Mr. Potter aboard and have him sign the articles.  It is time he became acquainted with his new ship."

He met Harry's gaze one last time.

"Welcome to the _Voldemort_ , Mr. Potter."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry runs into his Uncle and discovers some uncomfortable truths about the man he considers his only family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the ever patient Zillah, who is a saint. Hopefully this hits the spot :)
> 
> unbeta'd, so please forgive any mistakes.

Harry leapt from the _Griffin_ to the _Voldemort_ with a heavy heart.  For all there had been witnesses aplenty to his abduction, he couldn't shake the sensation that the _Griffin_  was the last Navy Vessel he would ever set sail upon.  They would not hang him for piracy, not with so many witnesses surviving to attested to the fact that his hand had been forced, but after serving time with a pirate crew, the Navy would never trust him.  Not enough to advance in the ranks, to captain his own ship, as he had so often dreamed.

Mr. Crouch landed beside him and Harry straightened at once, doing his best to ensure that none of the turmoil showed on his face.  Given how cutthroat Riddle himself was, Harry was unwilling to show weakness of any sort before his crew.  Especially before he had a chance to prove himself.  Harry held his head high, and met every gaze steadily, no matter how much those on the deck sneered and jeered.  He was not intimidated.

"Our new Shipmaster!" Crouch crowed, pitching his voice so it would carry to the rest of the deck.  "Courtesy of His Majesty's Royal Navy!"

A cheer went up, and Harry grit his teeth.

"Cheer up, Potter," Crouch said, slapping on the back with a little too much force to merely friendly.  "It's not as bad as all that."

Harry's back lit up with fire, and despite his attempts to keep himself upright, he staggered.  A sword flashed in his mind's eye, a blow delivered by a pirate to his back to distract him long enough for the pirate's shipmate to escape.  It had been near the start of the skirmish, and Harry had soon forgotten it in favor of other concerns.  It seemed the injury had been more serious than he had thought.

Crouch grabbed his arm and kept him upright, slinging Harry's arm over his shoulder.  He grudgingly accepted the help, for all it left a bad taste in his mouth.  Now that he had noticed the pain, he couldn't stop.  Black was creeping in at the edges of his vision, and it was only through sheer force of will that he managed to keep it from advancing any further.  As humiliating as Crouch's assistance was, it was far better than allowing himself to pass out on the deck.

"Right then," Crouch said, "ship's surgeon it is."

The two of them made their way below decks in silence, Harry's focus on putting one step in front of the other.  It required all of his attention, leaving no time for recriminations or anxiety.  He had no notion how long the journey to the surgeon truly took, but for him it seemed a small eternity had passed before Crouch drew to a halt.

"What have you brought me this time, Crouch?" a familiar voice drawled.

Harry's jerked his head upright, staring at the figure before him in shock.

"Uncle Severus?" he asked, unable to help himself in light of the surprise.

Harry hadn't seen the man since he had been buried his parents, for all that they were both faithful in their correspondence.  Severus was his mother's childhood friend.  He had stood by her side through thick and thin.  There had been no love lost between Severus and his father, but he normally dour man adored his mother.  He had given up the sea for her when she was trapped on land, raising Harry.  Harry had apparently taken a shine to the man right away, though it had taken Severus some time to reciprocate.

Harry didn't remember any of that, though.  All he remembered was Uncle Sev, who had told him fantastic tales of adventure on the high sea, his mother adding her own recollections as the three of them played on the beach.  Uncle Severus, who would talk him out of running away with the harsh, caustic words Harry needed to hear when he was in a fit of temper as a young boy.  Uncle Severus who would mend his wounds with hard words but a soft touch.  Uncle Severus, who, when the time was right, had helped Harry run away to sea.

Harry hadn't known which crew he was sailing with.  It was too dangerous, what with the chance of the navy coming into the possession of his letters.  There was no need to advertise the fact that the man had sailed under the Jolly Rodger longer than Harry had been alive.  Still, the last thing Harry would have expected was to find him here.

"You stupid, reckless boy," his uncle said, dark eyes glittering with anger and worry.  "What on earth have you managed to get yourself into now?"

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself, but Severus gave him a dark look and the words died stillborn on his tongue.  Severus gestured sharply to the table in the middle of the cockpit and Harry picked his way across the sand-strew deck, stripping as he did.  Shedding his jacket was no burden, but the shirt underneath proved a challenge.  Severus batted his hands away and stripped him out of shirt with proficiency, his face closed off in the way that meant Harry would be getting a verbal lashing when his uncle deemed him well enough.  As soon as he was free, he lay facedown on the table without prompting.

A cup was thrust in front of his face, and Harry drank it without protest.  A tea of willow tree bark, to help with the pain.  Once he managed to drink that, his uncle passed him a bottle.  Rum, Harry could tell right away from the smell.  He took several long swallows before handing the bottle back to his uncle and bracing himself as best he could.  What would come next would be far from pleasant.

He let out a hiss of pain as his uncle began removing stray bits of cloth from the wound.  As difficult as it had been to get out of the damned thing, Harry found himself grateful that his uniform had protected the wound from everything else that had been flying around the deck during the battle.  His uncle having to fish around for splinters of wood would only have made things infinitely worse.

When his uncle set down the forceps, Harry did the best he could to brace himself, knowing what was coming.  It wasn't enough.  Harry let out a shout as his uncle poured what was left of the rum across him back, hands clenching the edge of the table hard enough to embed small slivers in his palm.  Harry let a few choice curses past his lip as he lay there, back still burning from the alcohol.

"Your mother would clean your mouth with soap if she could hear you now," Uncle Sev scolded, talking through the string Harry was certain he held in his mouth.

So he would be needing stitches.  Wonderful.

"My mother isn't here, now, is she?" Harry snapped.

He regretted the words as soon as he had spoken them.  Uncle Severus had suffered more for his mother's death than anyone save Harry himself.  After the Navy's formal service for his father, Harry had returned home for a time to hold an intimate gathering for his mother.  Uncle Severus had been there, and they had both drunk themselves stupid together for several nights straight.  Harry had never seen his uncle such a wreck before.

"You're all I have left," Uncle Severus had slurred at one point.  " _All_  I have left.  Don't know what I'd do without you."

His tone on the last sentence had been alarming enough to yank Harry out of his drunken, grieving stupor.  He couldn't lose Severus.  He couldn't.  And while Uncle Severus might not deliberately harm himself, it was easy to let attention stray at sea.  If the man didn't _want_  to live, he wouldn't fight through whatever it was that came his way.

In a fit of either reckless stupidity or courageous brilliance, he still wasn't sure which, Harry had invited Uncle Severus for a walk the next morning, ignoring the man's dour look at having his rest disturbed.  Harry had guided his uncle along the coast until he felt they were far enough from civilization before turning and staring directly at Severus.  Once the man had met his eyes, Harry had taken several steps backward before purposefully falling backwards off the seawall and into the ocean.

Harry could swim.  His mother had made sure of that long before she agreed to send him off to sea.  Uncle Severus knew this - the man had been one of the people to help teach him how to swim, after all.  But the man did not hesitate to dive in after him, wrapping his arm around Harry's waist and dragging him to the surface before hauling them both up out of the water and back onto the seawall.

Harry had received the most vicious tongue lashing he'd had in his life as he sat upon the wall, dripping wet. Uncle Severus had paced back and forth, ranting and raving, calling Harry all sorts of obscenities.

"You could have hit your head on the wall!" Uncle Severus had snarled. "You could have been dragged out to sea, and me with you! What were you thinking!"

Harry had been thinking that he needed Uncle Severus. He needed him more than ever, this last connection to his mother. That Harry had to do whatever it took to keep the man from giving up. Harry had been thinking that, if Uncle Severus was not quick enough to save him, dying the same way his parents had seemed no burden. It would be one last way to be close with them.

He gave a simple shrug in response, unwilling to see what Uncle Severus might do or say in response to such confessions.

"I'd have been dead if it wasn't for you," Harry said simply. That much was true, he knew without a doubt.

Uncle Severus's face bleached bone white, as if, for all his talk of Harry's fate, he had never actually considered his death a possibility.

The rest of the walk had been spent in silence, but when they returned to the house, Uncle Severus had ordered Harry inside as if he were a recalcitrant child rather than a Naval officer before setting off once again.  Harry had followed him at a distance, his throat growing tight when he recognized the path they were taking.

Uncle Severus came to a stop in front of his mother's headstone, staring down at the words for a long moment.

"He's a stupid, reckless boy, Lily," Uncle Severus had said. "Just like his father. Except then he looks up at me with your eyes and _says_ something, and...he's your son. He may be the spitting image of his father, but he's your son. Brave, caring, and loyal. Stubborn, too. Too stubborn. Just like you." 

A long pause and a heavy exhale, and Harry felt something catch in throat. This...this was a private moment. Intimate, somehow, this moment between Severus and Harry's mother.

"You were my family, Lily," Severus said at last, his voice hoarse, and he reached out and placed a hand on the top of the gravestone. "You were more than my friend, more than my captain. You were my family. I was supposed to protect you."

Silence again.

"I'm sorry," Uncle Severus said at last, his voice _wrecked_. "I am so, so sorry. I would give anything to change what happened. Anything to have you back."

Severus' shoulders were shaking and his voice was hoarse, and Harry had to shove his hand into his mouth to keep himself silent. He shouldn't have come. He should have let Severus come here on his own. But Severus was all he had left of his mother. Severus was his family. He needed to know. Needed to be certain that he wouldn't lose this last connection to her, lose one of the few family members he still had.

"I won't lose him too," Uncle Severus said, and for all his voice was wet, there was a determination in it like nothing Harry had ever heard before. "He's all I have left of you. I won't fail him. I won't fail him the way I failed you. No harm will come to him, not as long as I draw breath. Not just because he's your boy, Lily. He's my family. The last family I have left. I won't lose him."

Uncle Severus had stood there for a few long silent moments, his shoulders hunched before he straightened and turned around.

One look at his face had been enough for Harry to know that the danger had passed. Smiling, Harry had wiped the tears from his eyes and turned, making his way as quietly as and quickly as possible back to the house. Severus would skin him alive if he returned to the house and found it empty.

At the time, Harry hadn't thought much of Uncle Severus' words to Harry's mother. Had brushed them off as the guilt of those left behind, horrified to still be drawing breath while those they loved lay in the ground.  The same guilt that ate at Harry in those brief moments when he wasn't consumed by anger.  But now...

Severus was ship's surgeon on the _Voldemort_.  Severus was a part of her crew.  The crew that had been responsible for Lily Potter's death.

Severus hadn't just been _feeling_  guilty.  He _was_  guilty.

Any remorse he had felt upon lashing out at his Uncle was gone now.  Severus deserved that comment.  He deserved that comment and a thousand more like it.

Accusations and recriminations bubbled on his lips, but before he had chance to give any of them voice, there was the sharp, familiar pain of the needle piercing his skin. Harry had to bite down on his lip to keep from making any sounds. Crouch was there, and he'd already seemed weak enough in front of the man who would no doubt make a report to the Captain the moment the man was on board.

"When you're done here, Severus, bring him to the Captain's cabin. I'm certain he'll want a word with him," Crouch said, and Harry heard the sound of footsteps retreating and someone climbing back up to the deck. He and Uncle Severus were alone now.

"Now," Severus said, continuing to stitch the slash on Harry's back closed as he spoke,  "what trouble have you gone and gotten yourself mixed up in?"

The loss of both his parents was like a fresh wound after the day's events.  Harry felt hot with anger, his skin too small and tight to keep all of the emotions roiling though him contained.

"I was kidnapped," Harry spat, shoving himself upwards, ignoring Severus' attempts to force him back down and the pain that ripped through him at the motion.  " _Your_  ship attacked mine and now I'm being held ransom."

Harry reached up and shoved Severus, hard enough to send the man staggering backwards. Harry leapt from the table, ignoring the way his back was screaming in favor of advancing on Severus again, shoving him once more, this time pushing him against the wall of the small cockpit.

" _Your ship_ ," Harry snarled in his face.  " _Yours_.  The same ship that _killed my parents."_

Harry reached out and fisted his hand in the man's shirt, shoving the man up against the wall.

"You killed them!" Harry roared, letting the hand not keeping Severus pinned snapping forward to punch the wall beside the man's head.  " _You killed them!"_

"Yes," Severus said simply, staring down at Harry with unreadable dark eyes.  "Yes I did."

Harry's grip loosened as he stared up at Severus in shock, the cloud of anger that had been dragging him forward dissipating slightly.  Harry...Harry didn't know what he had expected.  He could barely think straight for all the emotions roiling through him.  But he never, even at his most clear-headed, would have thought that Severus would just _admit_  it like that.

"I am responsible for the deaths of your parents," Severus said again, and Harry stared up at him.  "I was a part of the crew that was responsible for sinking the _Valiant_.  I am to blame for the death of your mother."

Before he was able to relax, Severus had freed himself from Harry's hold and had reached out, getting a good grip under each of Harry's arms right as his legs buckled, his back screaming in protest once again.  Severus hauled him back over to the table and shoved him until he sat on the edge.

"I have spent the last five years torturing myself over it," Severus told him, and for all that his words were calm, Harry could see the agony in his eyes.  Before Harry had the chance to say anything in response, Severus reached out and shoved Harry back down onto the table.

Harry said nothing as Severus began stitching his wound closed once again, glaring wordlessly down at the sand-covered planks of the deck.

"I don't expect your forgiveness," Severus said, the needle an uncomfortable painful tug against Harry's skin as the man kept working, "I don't care if you hate me.  You could never hate me more than I hate myself.  But I won't lose you, Harry.  No matter how you feel about me.  You are all I have left and I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe."

_I won't fail him. I won't fail him the way I failed you. No harm will come to him, not as long as I draw breath._

Harry ignored the words, both the ones Severus spoke aloud and the remembered words echoing in his head.  He grit his teeth instead, staring down at the floor.  It was the Captain who chose the target.  He knew that much.  And Severus, as ship's surgeon, for all he had a vote on the council, would have no roll in battle other than to do what he could for the wounded who were brought to him.

It was the captain who picked the crew's targets.  It was the captain who had decided to engage the Valiant.  The captain, who had decided to sink her rather than take her cargo.  It was Captain Riddle who had given the order that had killed Harry's parents.  Harry wanted nothing so much as he wanted to avenge his parents by killing Riddle.

He didn't want Severus dead.  Harry was beyond angry, and there was no arguing that he man was complicit in the deaths of his parents.  Severus had been a part of the crew.  Severus had kept his role in the death of Harry's parents from him for five years.  He was furious with the man, for his part in it, for the secrets.  But Severus was also the man who had helped to raise him.  The man, who for all his harsh words and dark demeanor, had treated Harry's childhood injuries with care.  Severus was family.  Severus was his last link to his mother.  Severus loved him, and as much as it pained him at the moment, Harry loved him in turn.

He didn't forgive the man.  Harry wasn't sure he could ever forgive him.  But the emotions whirling through him now were too much to bear.  Harry's past was in turmoil, old ghosts long laid to rest haunting him once again, and his future terrifyingly uncertain for the first time in his life. This last load was just too much to bear.

Harry said nothing as Severus stitched his wound.  He did not trust himself to speak.  Instead he stared down at the deck, plotting his revenge.

Captain Riddle would get what was coming to him.  Harry would make certain of that, no matter the cost.


End file.
